


too much and too little to hang onto

by fawno



Category: Designated Survivor (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, also kinda - Freeform, chuck/hannah doesn't really happen, mild sexual content but it doesn't go anywhere, season 2 based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawno/pseuds/fawno
Summary: Giving Hannah the news that Damian wasn’t what he seemed was quite possibly the best gift the universe could have ever given him.
Relationships: Chuck Russink & Hannah Wells, Chuck Russink/Hannah Wells, Damian Rennett/Hannah Wells
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	too much and too little to hang onto

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this rather spontaneously while watching the first half of S2 – something about these two just makes me *clenches fist*
> 
> disclaimer that I actually haven't finished S2, so I'm sorry for any inaccuracies based on things I've yet to see!
> 
> title from say it by maggie rogers!

Giving Hannah the news that Damian wasn’t what he seemed was quite possibly the best gift the universe could have ever given him. It wasn’t perfect, of course, and the cold fury in her voice after he offered his accusation sent shivers into his core. Chuck didn’t think of himself as particularly petty, but seeing that seed blossom to fruition was immensely satisfying. And his next conversation on the subject remedied his minuscule feelings of guilt wonderfully when she shot daggers at Damian through the video screen.

It only got better from there.

Chuck heard the news from Mike while driving to work. Mike had called asking about some of his files on Damian, and at Chuck’s inquiry Mike revealed that the ostentatious Brit now resided several feet underwater. Chuck couldn’t help the grin that overtook his face, but he had the decency to not let out a celebratory woop or a hearty fist pump. 

It was an afterthought, how Hannah must be feeling; of course it must have hurt to shoot ( _she shot him!!_ ) the guy you’re, well, _involved_ with after discovering and then confirming his betrayal. He called her, once, then twice; no answer. Chuck left no voicemail. He feared his excitement would bleed into his tone, and the last thing Hannah needed was for him to rub it in. 

Hannah wasn’t in her office when he got to work. That wasn’t uncommon – Chuck frequently arrived before her – but she didn’t show up at her normal time, either. Chuck retreated to his own office back in the Bureau out of... respect, he thought? Not to mention the absence of any special assignments from her. 

The second day she was late to work, he worried; against his better judgement, maybe, he swung by her office a few times throughout the day. Knocked before entering, but every time he was met with silence and a vacant room, completely undisturbed. Foerstel wasn’t confident, but suggested that she might be helping out the team locating the body. 

On his drive home, Chuck called her again. No response, just the sound of the ringtone. 

\---

It was late when it happened. He was watching some trashy reality show from TMZ while shoveling last night’s takeout into his mouth. His couch wasn’t all that comfortable – he was still setting up his new apartment in the aftermath of the gas leak – but it was a familiar piece of home.

A knock on his door startled him out of his TV trance; in his panic he knocked a decent amount of his meal on the floor. He muttered a swear, but rushed to the door regardless – “Just a sec!” – wiping his face with a sleeve. Chuck opened the door just as the visitor began to push it in. 

“I… Hannah!” The surprise in his voice was clear. 

Before he could continue, her hands were on him, creeping up his chest; she was pushing him against the wall.

Chuck was not a strong man. 

There was a lump in his throat. Perhaps one elsewhere. A crack in his voice.

“Hannah, what are you doing?”

“I want you, Chuck.” She spoke low, voice all husky. 

He couldn’t think. His gaze fell to where her fingers were grasping his shirt; felt the corresponding tug of the tightening fabric. He vaguely registered the scent of her perfume through his stuttering breaths.

She wanted him.

But she didn’t. Not really.

He threw away everything his body was telling him. Found his resolve. Gripped her wrists and shoved her back, severed the heavenly connection. Let her go.

“Hannah, what are you _doing_?” After another moment of confusion, he narrowed his eyes, gave her a hard stare. Her eyes were glazed over. “It’s, like, two in the morning!” Chuck let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes. “Go home, Hannah. You don’t want this.”

“You can’t tell me what I want,” she argued.

“And you can’t just – come on to me when it’s convenient!” He fell back into the kitchen. “What, you think, you think you can turn up half-dead in my living room one day, dismiss me the next? Have me bend over backwards, and, and break the law for you, then bring in a pretty British boyfriend to step on me too? And then have the audacity to show up _here_ ? That’s just… _cruel!_ ” 

Hurt weighed on every facet of his face. He ran his hands through his hair to calm himself down, and snuck a glance at her through the gaps of his fingers. She was stoic, clandestine; hadn’t moved an inch. Swollen eyes, and the smallest quiver of her lip. _Shit._

Chuck sighed again. “Come sit down, Hannah. Let me get you a glass of water.” For the first time in her life, probably, she accepted his orders, numbly moving to sit at the table.

They stayed mute like that for a moment. Chuck moved to flick the TV off so the only sound was the whine of the heater. He stayed up on his feet, pacing to fill the chasm between them. Sitting down would be facing it, something he had little intention – or ability– to do.

“I’m sorry, Chuck.” Hannah rasped after an eternity. When he looked at her, she had pressed her palms into her face, eyes shut tight. 

There was still a smolder left in him, a sad and clawing pain. But he wasn't the only one feeling betrayed. 

“It’s, uh. It’s okay, Hannah,” he said. “I know you must be upset.”

“No, it’s not okay.” She paused. “You were right.” Hannah exhaled loudly, like it was her last breath. “I shouldn’t have come like this.” One more, overwhelmed by a sob. “And Damian was a traitor.”

Chuck spoke soberly. “I’m sorry it ended up like this. I know you liked him.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

Through a sniffle, she choked out a weak chuckle. “You know, your apartment looks like shit.”

Chuck’s grin was chaste. “Sorry, my last one kinda blew up. Furbish it yourself if you care that much.”

Her ensuing laugh was genuine and made both of them smile. “You got anything stronger than this?” Hannah shook her near-empty water glass as she spoke. 

“Oh! Yeah, probably,” he said. After rummaging through a couple of cabinets, he produced an unopened bottle of scotch leftover from his old apartment and slid it across the table to her. After she filled her glass, she offered it back. “You having any?”

Chuck wrinkled his nose. “Not a big drinker.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. Humor me.” 

He gave a dramatic eye roll. “Alright, alright. Maybe one or two.” Chuck pulled up a chair across from her and raised his glass in her direction. “Tell me about him.” 

\---

It became a regular thing, for a while. Most nights, when Hannah wasn’t running off on assignments, she was down in Chuck’s apartment. After a while, it waned down to just one or two nights a week. No bother; Chuck was just happy to see her. On Fridays sometimes they carpooled to and from work. 

There was never an evolution into any sort of tryst; their time was… intimate, but casual. At first it was designed to let her grieve, get her spirits up, but she continued to come back even after she stopped mentioning him. Chuck got her hooked on reality TV, and she took him on runs as the sun set. He bought them takeout and cheap whiskey and they drank and laughed. One day they even painted his kitchen. More often than not Hannah went home at the end of the night, but sometimes she’d fall asleep on his couch before she had the chance to.

He liked the deal. He liked Hannah.

\---

It’d been two months. She didn’t show for a night. No big deal. Right?

When Hannah called him into the office the next morning and he was there sitting across the table again, smirk and all, Chuck bit his cheek til he tasted blood.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually the first fic I ever saw to completion – hope you liked it! I'd love to hear any thoughts or feedback in the comments :) Thanks for reading!


End file.
